


Safety in Silence

by prismaticore



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, flailing attempts at romance, wierd gay pumpkin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:19:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prismaticore/pseuds/prismaticore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Beast has lost his lantern-bearer, and Enoch tries to be comforting. "Tries" being the operative word in that sentence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety in Silence

**Author's Note:**

> I was so impressed with IncurableNecromantic's work with this pairing, I had to make some of my own.  
> Also: two pieces uploaded in two days... I haven't been this efficient at writing for leisure, well, ever. Coincidentally, I haven't studied for any of my finals.

    The sun had set on the little town of Pottsfield. Enoch watched it from the fields, tendrils swaying in the evening breeze. His guest would be arriving soon.

    “And here he is now,” Enoch grinned as he glanced behind him.

    The Beast looked a bit caught off guard. He'd thought he was being sneaky.

    “Hello, Harvest King,” the Beast said flatly.

    “Good evening. The journey treated you well?” Enoch inquired.

    “Well enough,” said the Beast.

    “And how have things been going with your young ward?” he asked.

    “She left me,” stated the Beast, no hint of feeling in his voice.

    “Mmm,” Enoch hummed sympathetically. “So you have no lantern-bearer for the time being?”

    “None but myself,” said the Beast, producing the lantern from his cloak of shadows.

    “So I guess you've been working overtime?” said Enoch, sounding perhaps a bit too cheery.

    “It would appear so.”

    “You must be weary. Why don't you come inside and warm your bones?” Enoch offered.

    “You know I don't have bones.”

    Enoch sighed.

    “Then why don't you do it anyway, because it would make me happy?”

    “I supposed that is a worthy enough goal,” the Beast granted.

    Once in the barn, Enoch took his preferred place among the rafters while the Beast made himself comfortable in a dark corner. The Beast moved as far as possible into the shadows until only his eyes and those obtrusive antlers were visible. Enoch had to wonder how he managed to walk through dense woods with those things poking out. He had the feeling that query would best be saved for another time.

    “Hope-Eater, why must you always hide yourself away like that?” Enoch cooed.

    “This is what feels most natural,” said the Beast. “I prefer it.”

    “Oh, come now. We've known each other for centuries,” he scoffed. “Must you still conceal yourself from me? I already know what you look like.”

    “I don't see why that's relevant,” the Beast mumbled.

    “Oh come now! You're sinfully vain, and we both know it.”

    The monster narrowed his eyes into luminous slits. He remained silent.

    “You know, I don't see why you have to be so secretive about your true form. I find it appealing,” Enoch teased.

    “You would be the first,” the monster retorted sharply, warning him that he didn't like the tone this conversation was taking.

    “I do mean it,” Enoch pressed on. “I'd like it very much if you took off that shabby old cloak.”

    “Don't patronize me, Harvest King,” growled the Beast, his voice growing low and his eyes brightening.

    “I'm doing no such thing,” Enoch insisted. “I may enjoy a cruel joke, but I'm an honest man, Hope-Eater. You know that.”

    “At any rate, I'd appreciate it if we dropped this topic,” the creature said, placated for the moment.

    “Fair enough. Sorry to have touched on a sore spot,” he conceded.

    They were silent for a while then. Enoch would not necessarily call it an awkward silence; indeed, there were no awkward silences with the Beast. He was always pensive, not waiting to speak, but perhaps waiting to strike. It was a nice quality; it made him pleasantly challenging.

    His friend's irritation convinced Enoch that the subject was not worth resurrecting, but he truly meant what he said. Certainly the Beast was ghastly to a mortal, but Enoch had different aesthetic sensibilities, having refined them over time immemorial. There was just no convincing creatures of the night that you found them charming.

    “Will you at least come into the light?” Enoch ventured. “I like to see my guests while I'm entertaining them.”

    The Beast made a guttural noise and stepped closer to the center of the room.

    “Thank you,” Enoch smiled. “Would you like some tea? I just got a new order of your favorite.”

    “Yes, please,” the creature replied, growing less rigid.

    Enoch need not move from his post. From above, his dexterous tendrils could easily fill up the kettle, put it to boil, and take out his fresh box of Endicott-brand peppermint tea. They chatted idly as the water heated.

    “So, if you don't mind my asking, what happened with your lantern-bearer?” said Enoch, unable to douse his curiosity.

    “She grew wise to my dishonesty,” the Beast sighed mournfully. “She very nearly blew me out. I was fortunate to escape with my life, in truth.”

    “How unfortunate,” Enoch frowned.

    “Indeed. Who knows how long it will take for me to find a replacement...”

    “Wait – would that really happen?” Enoch asked suddenly.

    “Would what happen?”

    “Would you really perish if your lantern went out?”

    “Of course I would,” the Beast hissed. “It contains my soul. You've known that for hundreds of years.”

    “No need to get impatient with me,” Enoch countered. “I'd simply never thought of it that way. I suppose I considered of the lantern more a source of power than life.”  
    Enoch considered this information carefully. It made him... uncomfortable. The Beast had always seemed commanding and invincible even to him, but in the face of this colossal Achilles' heel, he became incredibly vulnerable. The Beast was his dearest – neigh – his only companion. He loved the people of Pottsfield, but they were more like pets or children than friends. Perhaps it was shameful, but he would trade any of the townsfolk for the Beast, any day. And to know that he was at the mercy of a gust of air...

    “I wish I had more to offer you,” Enoch remarked softly.

    “You owe me nothing, Harvest King,” the Beast dismissed with a theatrical wave of his hand. He wouldn't admit it, but he loved to be dramatic. It was almost cute.

    “Still, I wish I could at least give you a trustworthy lantern-bearer,” Enoch continued.

    “I appreciate that, but none of your people are good candidates for the work,” the monster said.

    “I know, I know.”

    “And it's not as if I cannot take care of myself,” the Beast asserted a bit defensively.

    “Of course,” Enoch assured him. “But even so, I don't want anything to happen to you.”

    The creature's eyes darted away, likely embarrassed by his candor. Another silence fell upon them that could, in fact, be described as awkward.

    “I apologize,” Enoch said at last. “The harvest is coming up, and it tends to make me sentimental.”

    “You need not be sorry,” the Beast replied, still not quite able to meet his eyes.

    The kettle whistled behind him, offering an apt distraction from emotions better left implicit. Enoch poured a cup and handed it to his guest. The Beast took it in his hands and held it (presumably) under his nose. He could not drink it, of course, but he delighted in the smell. Enoch heard a long, languid noise like wind in the leaves. The Beast closed his eyes for a moment, becoming a flat plane of black, beguiling in its mystery. Enoch couldn't resist the temptation to caress the space between his antlers. Normally the monster recoiled at such a display of affection, but in an unprecedented display of benevolence, he remained still.

     “Don't do that again,” the Beast said as Enoch took his tendril away.

     “I wouldn't dream of it,” he smiled.


End file.
